A Ripple on the Surface
by Firien Inuyasha
Summary: Six hearts, two nations, one war. Achilles&Briseis, Hector&Andromache, Paris& Helen. Their love for each other... undying. Who will die for love? Who will live? Told from 6 points of view, of love, war, honour, and immortality.
1. Caught in the Rain

Troy is an awesome movie, with awesome actors (Eric and Brad, but I think Orli is a pansy). I couldn't wait to write this!!!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anyone in this story. I apologize for any line in the movie which I type in incorrectly. I haven't memorized it, and I know what you haven't either! J If anyone does have a copy of the script, please tell me! Comments please!!! R&R!!! Here it is drum roll…

**Chapter Subjects: **Achilles and Briseis

**Language Note/Summary: **This is Briseis' PoV which begins at the time when Achilles first meets her.

**Announcements: **Just REVIEW!!!

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Caught in the Rain

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Ai! May the sun may glow red the next morning for the terrible wrongs the Greeks have done to us, may the Gods strike Agamemnon and Menelaus and terrible Achilles dead! May Zeus unleash his thunderbolts upon the Greek camps! May Apollo shoot his golden arrows of pestilence on the Greek camp! I, Briseis, cousin to Hector and Paris, sister to Andromache, Priestess to Apollo, pray now, whilst I sit in this tent of the man-killer Achilles. I am caught in this rain of captivity, which holds me to this shore. But I will feel the wind on my face as a free princess of Troy someday!

These coarse ropes which bind me bite at my wrists, and the slightest shift of weight sends searing pains up my arm. The tent is poorly lit, dark, gloomy, _Like my future_. A hot shot of light comes from the opening, and who other than Achilles steps inside.

"The men found her. We thought she might… amuse you."

The other soldier leaves, the one with the dark blue eyes. I notice that Achilles' eyes are lighter, his hair like the golden sun above, stringy now with sweat and dust and blood. He does not speak, and instead picks up a goblet of magnificent gold and studded with many-coloured gems. _Probably another piece of loot picked up in some foreign land, fallen into his hands after the blood of thousands has been spilt_.

Most of the water he drinks, and pours the rest down the back of his neck. It is steaming outside, and I cannot imagine wearing armour and fighting on the burning sands, now soaking up the blood of my fallen brethren. His armour is not as grand as I had thought it would be, no swirling designs, no jewels, but it is beautiful in its own way, in a simple way.

_How could an man as horrible as he wear something made for a fair man, a man with honour, with a good heart and good intentions?_ The answer to this I do not know. Time will tell. As I worry about my future, his voice breaks my thoughts.

"What's your name?"

I choose not to speak, and bite down on my tongue. He won't have me obey him so easily, he who is used to others obeying him. The other kings do not bow to him, for he is not Agamemnon, but they listen to him in respectful silence, and do not question him. They do not dare, for fear of the wrath of Achilles. But I will not submit so easily. I do not fear the wrath of Achilles. I think. There is no danger yet.

"Come, now, even a priestess of Apollo has a name."

When I do not reply, he begins to strip of his amour. Those tanned, muscled forearms are still streaked and stained with the grime of battle, and as I sit there, I sense his power. It radiates off of him, heavenly light.

The arm-guards come off first. Then the greaves and breastplate and war-skirt. A soft blue tunic like the shades of the depths of the ocean is pulled on. I remember that his mother is Thetis, daughter of the sea. Certainly, there is royal, if not immortal, blood in him, and no scars cut over his perfect body. He stoops down next to me.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you." With his dagger, he cuts my bonds.

_If you didn't want to hurt me, I wouldn't be here. You wouldn't have set foot on this land, Greek. Your words offer no comfort._

He sighs and stands up as if he heard my thoughts.

"You're royalty, aren't you?" I wince in disgust as his picks up strands of my matted hair, and brings it to his lips. "You're royalty," he decides. _Very sure of yourself, aren't you?_

I am thankful when the soldier from earlier pokes his head unceremoniously through the tent opening, made strips of leather. Obviously, he is familiar with Achilles. No one else would dare enter unannounced.

"Lord Agamemnon desires to see all of the kings in his tent."

I feel a great load lifted off from my chest as he leaves, and breathe in relief. When the tent flap opens again, I expect to see his blond head, but instead, there are the faces of two, leering Greeks. A scream tears through my throat, but I feel as if no one in the world will be able to help me, even if they hear.

_Hector!_

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What do you think??? Review please!!! :-)


	2. On the Horizon

**Disclaimer**: Same as before.

**Chapter Subjects: **Andromache and Hector.

**Language Note/Summary: **I am especially fond of the relationship between Andromache and Hector. The quote is from Ira Frederick Aldridge (duh!), and I'm going to try to have a quote the beginning of ea. story, and they might repeat. Mind you, I say TRY. The poem is my own. I guess it could be Briseis, Achilles, or some other character speaking. Also, I brought up Briseis in this story because I was kinda confuzzled in the movie how it seemed as if Hector, Paris, Andromache, ect., did not seem to remember Briseis was at the Temple during the beginning of the war. So, here it is, guys! I hope you like it! Hector&Andromache, as promised in the summary. I see no one has written on them yet. R&R, I can't say it enough!!!

**Announcements: **Thank you to all of my reviewers, I really appreciate your thoughts!!! Please, keep sending in your comments, and special thanks to **Leap of Fate **for her critism.

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"This kind of passion never once happened before,  
and is only for the fools who trusted the unsure.  
Forbidden it may be, with its fire you might burn;  
it will drench you as you thrist,   
and with it's thrist the tides will turn. Now I warn you, fool!  
This love was destined but not meant to be.  
Eternal, yet ended each eve.  
Forever that started at dusk,   
forever that ended at dawn;  
forever that lasted for lifetimes,  
forever that ended too soon.  
This is a story of love,  
this is a story of passion,  
This is the story of my future years,  
of midnight sorrows and crimson tears..."

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On the Horizon

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"The bow is bent, the arrow flies, the winged shaft of fate."- Ira Frederick Aldridge

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Her stomach had flopped inside her, her eyes blinded for the slightest second. Hector, her husband, Prince of Troy, father to her son, was going to war. She had tried not to think about it, refusing that war would come to Troy, Citadel by the Ocean.

He would not die. He couldn't. The Gods would not be that cruel to her. If Zeus would unleash his fury, surely his would cast his thunderbolts on Agamemnon, called the cuckold king by even his own kinsmen.

Yet when she saw that single black-sailed ship on the horizon, and the thousand following, emerging from the edge of the world, she felt that, yes, war had come to Troy. To her husband. And she was not an ignorant woman, for all of her refusing to face the truth.

_It is Achilles._ She had been hoping that the great hero would refuse Agamemnon's request

When Achilles' men had began to fall under the Trojan arrows, hope had soared like the Eagle, Lord of the Sky. In a changing of the wind, it was Trojans who were being cut down. And her Hector rode into the midst of it, with many sons of Troy.

"Troy is mother to us all! Fight for her!"

And so they had. And so they died. _For Troy?_ she thought. _Or for Paris and Helen?_ But she knew those thoughts were wrong. You could not blame them for falling in love.

Love is a wonderful thing. Love is a terrible thing. Life revolves around love. Love is the sun. Love is the shadow. She, Andromache, wife to Hector, Mother to Astyanax, loved her husband. She knew Hector loved her. She knew Paris loved Helen. She knew Helen loved Paris back.

When she saw Hector riding, alone, to the walls of Troy, the Eagle soared inside her again. When she saw Hector, she could see the funeral pyres burning. When she saw Hector, she could see the mourning, the rejoicing, the wedding which Astyanax would have one day. She scanned the horizon to see if there were Greek archers. Only when Hector was inside the walls of Troy did she feel reassured.

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He heard the Gates of Troy close with a _CRASH!_ behind him. Hector tore off his helmet, beautifully crafted from bronze, with the nose-piece and cheek-guards which was meant to strike fear in his enemies. His muscles felt weary, his bones ached, and he swayed on his feet before leaning against his spear to stable himself. The horsehair crest which Astyanax would play with on steaming summer afternoons no longer flowed like the rivers.

Weeping women met him like a tidal wave, but this wave wailed like the Furies themselves. _They will want to know what happened to their husbands. Sons. Brothers. Cousins. Nephews. What will I say? What should I say? What can I say? That they died for their country? That they died for Troy? _

He felt relief wash over him when some of the palace guard surrounded their Prince and crossed their spears, securing his retreat, while he sped up the steps leading to the Royal Palace, two at a time.

_If only I could kill Greeks two at a time._ But he cast his mind away from these thoughts, and tried to focus on Andromache and Astyanax.

Yet he could still not stop thinking about tomorrow. The Greeks would be waiting for him. Achilles would be waiting for him. Even now, he could not understand why Achilles did not kill him when he had the chance.

But Andromache would be waiting for him; she would have been watching on the walls with all of the other women. He would have to say that he, Hector, Prince of Troy, Tamer of Horses, was the only survivor of the slaughter on the shore; which was still _their_ shore as of yesterday. Now the Greek tents dotted the coastline.

He would have to say to those wailing women, still wailing now, that their husbands were dead. The priests of Apollo were dead. The priestesses were dead… _Briseis!_ It hit him like a spear throw, piercing his breastplate, tearing through his heart, traveling through him, and exiting through his back. It felt as if Achilles had delivered to him a death-stroke.

_The Greeks have her._

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What do you think? I know it was short. I'm working on it!!! :-) Keep those reviews comin'.

**NOTICE: **Do you think that I should continue with the Achilles/Briseis story, this Hector/Andromache story, or begin the Helen/Paris story? Also, if you do not choose Helen/Paris, tell me when I should begin the Helen/Paris story, and when to continue with the others.


	3. Footsteps in the Sand

**Disclaimer: **Just rewind to Chapter 1 (but you've probably already read that chapter) .

**Chapter Subjects: **Briseis and Achilles

**Language Note/Summary: **This is the part where Achilles gets real pissed Agamemnon for taking Briseis. I have some lines from the movie and I hope I do it justice. The quote is something I came up with. This chapter begins with Achilles, goes to Briseis and then back to Achilles.

**Announcements: **Please REVIEW!!! and read the NOTE!!!

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Footsteps in the Sand

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"Where would their paths lead them? Who would perish in the name of loyalty? Who would live to mourn the death of his brother?"

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"A great victory was won today, but that victory was not yours. Kings do not kneel to Achilles. Kings do not pay homage to Achilles." _Very angry, now, isn't he? Stuck-up pig._

"Perhaps the kings were to far behind to see. The soldiers won the battle."

"History remembers _kings_, not soldiers! Tommorrow we'll batter down the gates of Troy! I'll build momuments of victory on every island of Greece. I'll carve Agamemnon into stone."

"Be careful, king of kings. First you need the victory."

"So, you bring no gifts?" _As if you don't already have enough wealth._

"Take the gold, I don't care."

"Do not trouble yourself, Achilles. I have already taken what I want, as you can see." He gestured towards the tent opening…

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Their hands felt like the hands of Hades, groping, tugging, pulling. _Hector! _

"Hector!" I suddenly realised I had screamed his name aloud, a last plea. But there was no cousin her to rescue me.

The soldiers just howled, like the wolves Paris would hunt down in the mountains after they snatched a baby on a dark night. Their voices were rough, like the coarse wool of peasant's clothes. They laughed at my feeble attempts to resist them. I clenched my fists tighter and continued to pound at their arms. But like wolves, like men, are strong. _Monsters!_

_I am not afraid… I am not afraid… I _am_ afraid._ For some reason, I began to wish that Achilles was here. He wouldn't let them touch me like this. _He would probably kill them. Mother of Zeus, when he finds out about this he _will_ kill them._ So it did not surprise me when they began to drag me out of Achilles' tent.

When some of his men saw this, they rose from their seats on the logs which they had found scattered along the stretch of coastline. But they knew better than to become involved I in the matters of kings. Their lord would do what needed to be done. The blue-eyed man from earlier was not seen.

My feet left deep grooves in the sand, as they dragged across the beach, soon to be trampled away by the feet of a soldier, or blown apart by the wind. The soldiers were leading me, or rather _dragging _me, to a tent.

It was elaborately decorated on the outside, ribbons and banners flapping in the light breeze, and tents are usually more decorated on the inside… _like people. And not always in a good way. _Only one man came to mind when I thought about who would be so lavish: Agamemnon.

I remembered that Achilles' blue-eyed friend had said that Agamemnon requested Achilles in his tent. _Wrong decision, king of kings. _I could only imagine how Achilles would react. A figure emerged from the opening.

His face was that of a man which much wisdom, acquired over the years. I knew of three men whom could have such a face; Priam, my Uncle, Nestor of the Pylians, and Odysseus of Ithaca. It could not be Priam, and he was certainly too old to be Nestor. It had to be Odysseus. He squinted for a moment, though it was not anywhere near nightfall, as if he recongnised me.

It came to mind that Odysseus was a clear-thinker, and would make sure that no harm came to anyone. He was not a rash man, though certainly without as much skill as Achilles. Odysseus was a tactician, a man who could mould words to suit his purposes, not a fighter. I sent out a silent plea. _Please, Odysseus, whose words weave legends, please…_

But he did not recongnise me, and turned and walked off to his own section of the Greek camp.

The inside of the tent was empty, except for two men, whom I knew by sight. One, Achilles; the other, Agamemnon. You could tell who Agamemnon was because of his bearing, because of how he adorned himself with gold and gaudy gems, because of his oiled limbs and long black hair. But they were greasy, unlike Achilles' fair tresses. He was clothed in rich robes.

"Do not trouble yourself, Achilles. I have already taken what I want, as you can see," he was saying. But he looked like a pig. I could not imagine…

Achilles trembled with rage. Before I could say anything, he drew his sword, as if to cut down those men who held me in an iron grip, even now. It seemed as if he were going to cut down Agamemnon himself. _If he does, it will be better for Troy. Better for everyone, even the Greeks._ But it came to mind that even Achilles, famous for his rage and temper, would not kill Agamemnon himself. He might be immersed in his fury at this very moment, but he was not an idiot.

"I have no quarrel with you, but if you do not release her!" Their grips lessened considerably, but did not release me.

_"Stop!"_

Agamemnon raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. Achilles' face held that expression of a child's confusion and surprise.

"Too many men have died today. Trojan soldiers and priests. If killing is your only talent, then it is your curse. I don't want anyone dying for me." I directed the priest comment at Achilles. "I'll not have blood being spilled for me. And certainly not from _you_." _You monster,_ I added silently.

I hoped that he would not cut me down for my harsh words against him. That was better than being a concubine. I was a slave now. He was still the greatest warrior in the world. But I controlled my expression, turning it into a look of pure defiance. I held my head a little higher. A princess of Troy would not bow down to a Greek invader. _Make Hector proud. _

I bit the inside of my lip, drawing blood, and dared not breathe. Then, it was my turn to be surprised. He slid the sword into its beautifully tooled scabbard, with a loud _Screech!_, another sign of his anger. His hand still remained on the hilt.

_Outside the tempest loudly roars,_ _but no storm can shake my inmost calm._

He glared at the animal-skin covered floor, as if it was Agamemnon himself, shoulders and chest heaving in some sort of frustration and definitely anger. His jaw was set firmly, and I could tell he was gritting and grinding his teeth. For some reason, I thought of how many rabbits had been killed to cover this tent floor of Agamemnon's.

"My, my, Achilles. Silenced by a _slave girl_. Why, I never knew this pretty thing had so much power over a man such as yourself."

The words were taunting, and it seemed as if the flame burning within Achilles flared at this. Next, to my utter disgust, Agamemnon picked up a few strands of my hair, like Achilles had done earlier, yet this man's touch seemed oily, fat and, in every way, the touch of a pig.

"Tonight, I'll have her fetch some warm water for my bath. And then, who knows?" At this, Achilles unsheathed his sword and pointed it in the direction of Agamemnon's throat. His eyes burned with a passion.

"Before my time is done I will look down upon your corpse and smile." He snarled these words.

And then he left the tent. Sheathed his sword again and swept out of the tent. Dread came upon me.

I had looked around me and seen, earlier, the hearts of Greeks. It took only one look. They had black hearts, all of them, and the blackest of them as black as coals. Agamemnon's was even blacker. Like the black of a raven's wing. _Oh, what have I done?!_

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Night fell. The moon sailed over and put on a cloak of cloud. A long-beaked cry of a gull curled across the water. Waves lapped at the shore and against the wooden ships of the Greeks. A figure strode across the beach and towards his tent. No one stepped in his way, all men wary of the son of Peleus' famous anger.

He flung himself through the tent opening. _How dare Agamemnon do such a thing to him? And that priestess, how dare she speak to him in such a way? Didn't she know help when she saw it?_

"Women," he muttered angrily.

Un-buckling his sword and belt, he tossed it aside, and poured himself a cupful of wine. It was tasteless in his mouth. Walking to his bed, he sat down on the edge of it, drinking in great gulps, and ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip.

"Silenced by a slave girl." He snorted. "I'll silence my blade's song and my war-cry. And we'll see who will come crawling and begging for the aid of Achilles, greatest of all the Achaeans. Oh, yes, Agamemnon, I'll be silenced." He drained the rest of the cup, tossed it carelessly to the floor, and leaned back on the cushions.

There was silence, save for the brazen drunken laughing of the soldiers outside his tent. _A victory, hmm? Well, you'll not be seeing one tomorrow. Agamemnon will certainly get immortality; for over-estimating himself and forgetting of the power of Achilles._

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**NOTE:** I will be writing on Paris and Helen next. Also, I am planning on writing a sequel to this story after I finish it. What do you think about that? REVIEWS!!!


	4. A Storm Approaching

**Disclaimer:** Some lines are from the movie. And I'm pretty sure you guys have all seen it.

**Chapter Subjects: **Helen and Paris

**Language Note/Summary:** Ilium is another word for Troy. Greek contingent means Greek force. The quote is a French proverb (Yeah, I'm taking French I). I am making Helen a more sympathy-worthy figure, but Paris is still a sissy. Hector is the awesome older brother and husband, Briseis is an understanding figure to Helen, and Andromache is a loving and devoted wife who stands around with Astyanax and looks pretty. In this story, Briseis is a becomes a good friend of Helen.

**Announcements: **Please REVIEW!!! And tell me what you think about a SEQUEL!!!

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All your life you spoke of fate. Of destiny.  
All your life you spoke of things that could not be changed.   
All your life you spoke of things decided.  
You spoke of beginnings.  
Of seeds growing,  
of wind blowing.

You spoke of triumph. Of glory. Of gain.  
You spoke of suffering. Of sacrifice. Of loss.  
You spoke of endings.  
Of leaves falling,  
of Death calling.

All things must pass away,  
all life is doomed to fade.  
But now I ask,  
what is there in this world which is more powerful than fate?   
What is there in this world for which men will die?

Some choose a path less traveled.   
Helen of Sparta is one:   
she ignored destiny.   
She defied fate.  
She chose love.

As you speak of fate, I speak of love.  
Love. I speak of love.  
Of passion. Of loyalty.

I speak of emotion. Of hearts swelling.   
I speak of the future.  
Of sorrow leaving,   
of dreams into us weaving.

I speak of hope.  
Of souls rising,  
of love undying.  
Fate, you say?   
Fate has failed.

Six hearts, two nations.   
Thousands will never return to home.   
Heroes will rise, heroes will fall.   
And for love, a nation will burn to the ground.

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A Storm Approaching

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"One often finds his destiny in the road which he takes to avoid it."- French Proverb

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"Love is like the sands of time. Forever shifting, forever changing, forever shaping the surface of this earth. I've fought many wars in my time. Some I've fought for land, some for power, some for glory. I suppose fighting for love makes more sense than all the rest."

As Paris stood on the walls of Troy looking across the dry plain at the Greek campfires, and thought about the words of his wise father, king Priam.

Troy, Ilium, is beautiful, but most beautiful at night. The walls, more than a hundred feet high, are lit with torches and braziers, casting long shadows over the perfectly paved roads. He sighed deeply, and turned around and was met by his beloved city.

Troy is a city with tall towers, wide windows, now glowing with warm light, terraces and balconies. He could still see remnants of the earlier celebrations. The perfectly and carefully paved broad streets had been full of people, decked out in their best clothing, gold jewelry flashing in the sunlight.

_A city blessed and graced by they Gods._

Helen's face had been beaming to be met by his people and in an instant all her fears of being shunned and refused by the Trojans had been erased. Yes, he knew that now many hated Helen, and blamed her for bringing about this war; yes, he knew that some wanted her returned to Menelaus in the first place; his own brother had been one of them.

But what could they do now? When the war-horns of Troy had sounded, he had rushed out onto the balcony to see the sight which they had all been expecting for years. _A thousand ships_, he had thought. _A thousand ships to destroy our fair city._

And so Hector, his honourable brother, had pulled on his battle-gear, took up his spear and shield, rushed out, and had ridden with the Appalachian Guard to meet the Greeks. Almost all had perished. Many more would.

This night, he, Paris, Prince of Troy, had told his father that he would challenge Menelaus to a duel, and prevent further bloodshed.

"It will end everything."

He knew that he was making the right choice. He knew that he would probably die while all of Troy watched. Helen would probably be returned to Menelaus.

_Forgive me Helen. But I do not want to be selfish anymore; Hector has always put Troy before himself. Now, it is my turn to take responsibility. _He had not yet told Hector of his decision, or Helen. But he would. Just not yet.

"I began this war. I shall end it," he spoke to the darkness.

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"They're coming for me. I can feel it. The wind brings them closer. A storm is approaching."

And now, they were here. Hector, bravest of all Trojans, had gone to meet them. She, Helen of Troy, had stood on the walls with Andromache and Astyanax.

The gold necklace and soft green woolen robe, embroidered in silver, felt heavy and muffling. She wished she could sprout wings, fly to some distant shore, and walk into the sea and drown. But she was not a bird and knew of no distant shore.

When she had left Sparta with Paris, she had not thought about the war which would result. She did not think that Achilles of the Myrmidons would be among the many heroes who would lead the Greek contingent.

She had not thought of the massacre at, and the desecration of, Apollo's Temple. She had not thought of the funeral pyres burning, the dead men being loading into carts, the weeping wives. She had not thought of any of this. She had not wanted any of this. All she wanted was to be happy and live out the rest of her long life with Paris.

Then, an even heavier blow; Hector confirmed that, yes, Briseis had been at the Temple of Apollo during the beginning of the invasion.

"The Greeks have her," was the first thing he had said to Andromache, breathlessly. Then the daughter of Eetion had hurriedly handed Astyanax to a nurse, sent a servant for water for a bath and some wine, and rushed to find Priam.

Paris thought that she had no worries about being accepted after her first day in Troy, but she still felt like an outsider around the Trojans. But she had not told him. What use would that be? It would only make him feel worse.

She had found comfort and understanding in Briseis. Although Briseis had not been a large part in the welcoming ceremony, she had graciously introduced Helen to the city with open arms, and had no hard feeling towards her. She had immediately requested that Helen speak to her in private, and told her that women _would_ hate her, but that there would always be love here in Troy. And she also erased any fears of being given back to the Greeks.

"You are one of us now. You are a daughter of Troy, and Hector would never give you to the Greeks. You are _safe_ here."

_But now _you_ are in danger, sister. What are they doing to you now?_

She walked out onto the balcony, and felt the cool night breeze pass through her hair and brush her face. It felt good. She was met by a field of stars, like white, glowing ambers blown across the sky by winds' breath. _A rare moment of calm. A gentle lull in the midst of the storm._

Behind her, the door creaked open, and she turned around to see Paris. There was something in his eyes that made her worry.

"What is it?" she asked softly. _Oh, Zeus, Father in the Sky, do not let anything have happened to Briseis._

"I… have something I need to tell you," he said hesitantly. "Tomorrow, I will…"

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**Note: **What do you think? REVIEWS!!! And don't forget to your opinion on my idea of a SEQUEL!!!


	5. Hunter Among the Stars

**Disclaimer:** Well, it's been a long time, so: Troy is property of Warner Brothers and Homer. Some lines are from the movie, some are my own.

**Chapter Subjects: **Hector and Andromache

**Language Note/ Summary:** This is about the battle scene after the Temple of Apollo is desecrated, and Briseis is taken from Achilles, who is watching the battle with his men. Hector is fighting for his life. Menelaus has already died by Hector's hand. Andromache is watching from the walls (again) with Helen, and thinks about Briseis. The quote is something that I have Hector say to Andromache in the story. You'll understand the title later in the story. This story is also the first story to have a "flashback".

**Announcements: **Just REVIEW!!! And thanks for all of your great comments; I just love reading them!!! :-)

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Hunter Among the Stars  
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"Blood will meet blood. I will fight. Our fates bind us. Our duties bind us."-Hector

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A deafening roar. Shields being shattered and the screech of metal on metal, the sound of two nations clashing. Men falling like oaks, toppling like towers. Death raining down like the monsoons. Our expert Trojan archers shoot volley after volley, unceasing in their defense of our city. The Greeks were the on the offensive when they beached their ships on our shore; now they were on the defensive. _Few of our warriors fall. That is good._

The Greek morale must be dramatically reduced, after they saw Menelaus, Helen's former husband, killed by Hector. Paris is somewhere behind these walls; Hector had sent him back, and his injuries were being tended to. I knew this because Helen had gone to fetch the best healers in Troy herself.

_Oh! Hector, what will happen now? Agamemnon's brother, Menelaus, is now dead. Will Agamemnon retreat and never return? Or will he be seeking the blood price in this war?_

A few days ago, she had talked to Hector about the war. Although by then it was inevitable, she had still protested. But he had said something which had silenced her.

"Blood will meet blood. I will fight. Our fates bind us. Out duties bind us."

_Our duties. Our fates. What a cruel twist of fate has put us in this position._

A strange sight caught my eye, a sight which made some kind of fear swell up inside of me and blossom, an unwanted kind of flower.

In the midst of the chaos, a small circle has formed, and inside it are two men, one of them my husband. The other is no less than a giant, and towers over Hector. _A real oak._ He carries no shield, but has in one hand an enormous hammer. I doubt that any other man would be able to lift it, save for Achilles son of Peleus.

To my horror, he lifts the hammer and strikes at Hector, who raises his shield just in time to block the blow. _No! Get out of there, my husband! _I fear that his shield arm has been shattered, yet it is not so. Hector hacks at the man with his sword, yet it does not seem to even scratch him.

Trojan soldiers, who surround the two, are either too engaged in their own small battles, or are dead, (their heads no doubt smashed to a pulp by the giant man's hammer), to help their prince and commander. Once again, he slams his hammer at Hector, and this time Hector stumbles backwards and lands on his back from the strength of the blow, his shield thrown aside.

_Gods above, help me now! Help me save my Prince of Troy!_

And they do. They hear my desperate plea. The giant's hammer is kicked aside by my husband and Hector picks it up, and smashes it at the huge man. The giant falls, and does not rise. A great cheer goes along the Trojan ranks. Suddenly, I realise that the giant is the greater Ajax, son of Telamon of Salamis.

Odysseus is speaking to Agamemnon, though there is no chance that I will be able to guess at what he his saying. But it must have been a call for retreat, for Agamemnon turns his chariot around. And his men follow.

_The Greeks are retreating._ Achilles would never let the Greeks retreat. I scan my eyes over the fast-moving horde and spot no shining immortal son of a goddess.

_If Achilles is not here, where is he?_

----

He hit the ground hard, a dull thump drowned out by the screams of wounded, dying and fighting men around him. For a brief moment, a flash of white light passed before his eyes. _Not now,_ he thought. _I will not be defeated and die now._

The next moment, the greater Ajax was the one on the ground, still, lifeless. He could hear his countrymen cheering. He could see the Greeks retreating. Adrenaline rushed through him, and lifted himself up.

The Trojans raced after the Greeks, spearing the ones who lagged behind in the rear. Soon, they were at the edge of the Greek camp. His men continued to rush forward, thinking that they would drive the Greeks from this land which was theirs.

"Retreat! Fall back!" he shouted.

"But my lord, we are winning. We can drive them back and have them run home in their ships!" protested his second-in-command, a man with wisps of white hair, whom he had fought many battles with.

"No! We are in range of their archers! We must retreat. We can drive them off later," he said in a commanding tone, but secretly inside he wished he could chase them from their shore.

The other furrowed his brow disapprovingly, but he was not about to refuse a direct order from his prince. Both called out the order.

"Fall back! Fall back!"

_Andromache, I am coming._

----

Her robes dragged on the marble floor behind her and hurriedly whisked a stray strand of hair from her face, and adjusted the gold bracelet around her wrist. She pushed aside a curtain which covered the doorway to the private chambers she and Hector shared. With a quick flick of her hand, she dismissed the servants, knowing that this would be a rare moment alone with him.

His armour was hanging on a rack near the window, and he held Astyanax in his arms, one hand holding an ivory horse which he had carved himself. When she had been with child, he had sat near the hearth, carving the horse with the utmost care in the night, and she remembered seeing his blade flash a stunning silver, the flames of the fire dancing on it.

"There you are. For a moment I thought that you were looking after Paris."

"And I would put my brother before my husband?"

He laughed softly. "No, I did not think that, Andromache," he replied, turned back to his son. "He's grown overnight, it seems. So much larger than before."

I sat myself down next to him, and looked into Astyanax's big brown eyes, so much like Hector's, yet missing that look of wisdom. But he would gain it after years. What Hector said next made me wince.

"He'll grow up to be a great warrior."

"And to do what? Spread death? Make more widows?" After these words escaped my mouth, I felt like slapping myself for them. _He almost died out there. Who are you to criticize him now?_

"He will be a prince of Troy. He will protect his country and defend what his fathers have built. He will have a duty to fight for Troy when the time comes. But there will be more than bloodshed in his life. There will be happiness also. But come, now; the sun is setting."

----

As Andromache and Astyanax slept, he thought of the days before the war. Once, on a night when the sky was clear and the moon was full, he had taught Astyanax the stars. Of course, he was too small to understand anything, but he had heard Hector, for he had been silent the entire time.

Now, Hector rose from the bed, and walked silently to the balcony and looked up to the heaven above. One constellation stood out.

"See that group of stars there? That is Orion, hunter among the stars. He guides warriors on their paths. He has guided me. One day, he will guide _you_."

Hector blinked and the vision was gone. Troy was sleeping. _Sleep well, tonight. Tomorrow is another day. _

"Let us make the most of it."

----

Please REVIEW!!!


	6. A Fool Still

**Disclaimer: **Same as before.

**Reviews Review: Thank you for all of the great reviews! **How 'bout some more?!!

**Chapter Subjects: **Briseis and Achilles

**Language Note/Summary: **I'm trying to balance out the amount of stuff in the stories, since it has tended for the Achilles and Briseis story to be longer, and the Briseis side to be longer than the Achilles side. So in this story, the Achilles side is longer. There's also a lot more of the original script. Sorry, I don't have a quote this time.

**Announcements: **Please **REVIEW **and also tell me if you have a copy of the **SCRIPT**. Please read the **NOTES **at the end of the story, (they are very important).

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A Fool Still…

----

A blonde figure steps through the tent opening. Patroclus' face is a mix of disbelief, surprise, and frustration.

"You ordered the men not to fight?"

I bite down on my tongue, knowing to wait it out; maybe he will leave without many words. As much as I love my cousin, he knows not of the ways of war. I only lift my head slowly. _Maybe I can scare him off with my stare like I did when we first met. _

"Do you not care that Greeks will die tomorrow? All because you can't stand Agamemnon."

He sounded like he really cared. _He does care, doesn't he? Young men, they have all these illusions of war. They think that when enter the battle-field, glory lies before their feet, that all they need to do is pick it up. They think that there are no consequences._

Apparently, I'm going to have to scare him off with words. "Have you ever been to battle, Patroclus?" I ask, trying to make my voice gentle, yet firm.

He shifts slightly at this, a little un-comfortable. "No," he speaks in a voice only a level higher than a whisper. Seeing this as a weakness, I decide to push further.

"Have you ever killed a man? Have you ever seen a dying man take his last breath? Ever seen blood bubbling out of his wounds and mouth?"

"No." An even smaller voice this time. _Good._ I look away, thinking about what would be the best thing to say next.

"I have. And there is nothing glorious about it." I look back up at him. "Sometimes, I see the faces of the men I've killed. They stand across the river Styx, and they say 'Welcome, brother,' and there they wait for me."

"So you are not going to fight?" There is a hint of disbelief. _I can hardly believe it myself. _

"No, and neither are you. You are much too young." _He looks hardly more than a lad, yet close to becoming a man. But not close enough. It is not his time. _

"But you have taught me everything you know!" His voice is raised in disbelief. "I have learned from the best teacher! I'm ready!"

I sigh to myself inside._ They always think so highly of themselves… until they face another man with a spear and shield._

"No, Patroclus."

"But-."

"Go." It's no use talking to him.

"But-," he begins again.

"_Go_, Patroclus!" and I turn away from him, pick up my cup, and eat a few of the raisins. He leaves quickly and I can almost feel the frustration in him.

I was like him, once. Thinking of all of the glorious feat of battle which I would accomplish. I was a fool, then. _Perhaps I am a fool still._ The raisins are sweet. The day does not seem like it's going to be interesting.

----

The sound of men screaming in their final agonizing moments, horses whinnying with spears embedded in their torsos, is a horrible thing. It is hard to believe that here, in this tent of Agamemnon's, I can hear their cries.

It all began a while ago. It's impossible to tell which side is winning; men are all men. I try to calculate who has a better chance of winning; the Trojans have Hector and his faithful second-in-command, and Paris with his gift of the bow; the Greeks have Ajax and Odysseus, a warrior good enough, but they are missing their greatest hero: Achilles.

That mighty demi-god, that cursed son of Peleus, has decided to sit and brood in his tent instead of getting his share of glory.

And all because of one woman: me.

----

I trudge lazily up the hill, dust forming on my sandals. Lying in my tent, with the sounds of war reaching my ears, I could not resist the temptation to watch it, at the least.

My men were already there, my faithful Myrmidons from Phthia. Patroclus was there, also. Twenty-three cities we had conquered and left for Agamemnon to rule. Not this city. Not Troy.

As I stepped onto the crown of the hill, Eurdonus looked up in surprise. The battle had already started, and was going badly. Both Ajax and Menelaus were dead; killed by that Prince of Troy: Hector, brother to Paris. And speaking of Paris, he was no where to be seen. _The wife-stealer who started this war does not fight in it. A brave man, indeed._

The Greeks had smashed into the Trojans, "charged" more like it; and that was their mistake. The Trojans kept in formation, orderly, and archers on the walls of Troy rained down death in the form of arrows. Paris was not on the walls either.

Although I had nothing to gain and nothing to worry about, I was frustrated, as Patroclus had been.

"Get them back into formation," I growled to myself. I found myself pacing. _Why do I care for this battle?_ Because Odysseus is out there. I scanned my eyes over the chaos, yet could not spot the quick-thinking son of Laertes.

Hector was leading his men well and fighting valiantly. _The priestess' cousin. _Thinking about her made anger swell up inside of me. That evil tongue of hers. Why did I even bother trying to help her?

I wonder where she is now…

----

Comment: I know, that was kinda short and abrupt, but I'm in a bit of tight spot here, with all the chapter stuff! I think I'm doing Paris next...

----

**NOTE 1:**I will be writing _three_different sequels, _if_you tell me I should. Here's my idea:

**Sequel A:** The ending in the movie. This will be a one-chapter fic called **The Silence After**, which will be started soon.

**Sequel B:** The ending which many people were hoping for ; Achilles doesn't die. This will be a fic called... I dunno.

**Sequel C:** Another fantasy; Hector DOESN'T DIE!!! (mmm, Eric Bana… Yeah, I didn't want him to die). This is called **At the Edge of an Ocean **and already has five chapters.

For all three versions, I will still be speaking from all points of view, including maybe those who are dead and I might introduce new PoVs and/or characters. Please, give me your comments or suggestions for these plot developments!!!


	7. Pray for Troy

**Disclaimer: **Rewind.

**Reviews Review: **Thank you guys soooooo much! And keep on reviewin'!!!

**Chapter Subjects: **Paris and Helen (I know that some of you didn't want me to write about them… but hey, it's the way the story works). I do have to admit I wish this had come out better.

**Language Note/Summary: **Helen speaks of her shame of both Paris and herself, though she states that she loves Paris. Also, she talks about that little conversation she had with Hector, and of how wonderful he is (Firien drools over the keyboard. Ummm… ahem). Paris also talks about how ashamed he was, ect., ect. I hope that this doesn't offend anyone, but like I said in Chapter One: Paris is a pansy (Orlando is a bit too, but just a little). The next chapter is most likely going to be Hector and Andromache (the majority of the reviews have been requesting them). And I have a quote this time. I do use the quote in the story, though I do not claim it to be mine, and it was not in the movie. I think that I have only one line from the movie in this chapter.

**Announcement: **Please, tell me if you have a copy of the SCRIPT and here's the goal: if I get 15 REVIEWS, I will write the next chapter. Okay? Okay. It anyone has good quotes/mottoes that would be appropriate, please, tell me, and you can just write it in your review, since I read all of them. Thanks!

----

Pray for Troy

----

"Courage is fear that has said it's prayers."-Karl Barth

----

Shame! Shame for Paris! _Oh!_ I was so worried when he said he would challenge Menelaus. I was so frightened, of the idea that I would be given back to him… I did not think that Paris would win the duel. He couldn't possibly win. We all knew.

"_Fight._ Stand up and _fight,_" murmured Priam, the wise king and father when Paris fell.

I thought that he would not live. I thought of what Menelaus would do to Paris' body. I thought of what Menelaus would do to me. The Paris did something none of us expected. He crawled. To Hector. _Oh!_ noble the Hector, loving husband, kind brother, protected my lover.

When Menelaus moved to run Paris through, Hector killed him, his face a mask of anger, furious that anyone would even think about killing his little brother… Agamemnon's face was un-describable. He did the one thing that made sense; he sounded the charge.

And so two nations clashed.

Paris was sent back by Hector, immediately. When he came through the gates I could feel my face burning. I could not make myself to look at Andromache. But he needed me. So I left the walls to find him.

----

Hector saved me. He has saved me so many times. Menelaus is dead.

I felt as if I was a dead thing when I was fighting Menelaus. My limbs felt like water, the sword like it was made of the heaviest metal, the amour like a breastplate of thorns.

I knew that I would die. So did my father, Priam, though he had still given me the Sword of Troy. So did Helen. But I think that Hector was the only one who believed in me. He has always believed in me. Me, the little brother. Me, the trouble-maker. Me, the coward.

I should have fought. But I didn't. There was something Hector told me earlier:

"Courage is fear that has said its prayers."

_Pray for me, Helen,_ I had been thinking. _Pray for me._ Now, I pray for Troy. Agamemnon will surely see Troy burned to the ground for this grievance. Now, I hope that all Trojans are praying for their city.

----

I was walking through the hallways of the royal palace when I hear a few servant women speaking; Achilles was not among them. The greatest warrior in all the world did not don his armour and pick up his spear to challenge Troy.

The only possibility is that he had a dispute with Agamemnon.  
  
_Over what?_

----

I know, this chapter is short and it sucks, but I'm doing Hector and Andromache next, so don't worry! Please, REVIEW!!!


	8. Taming a Wildflower

**Disclaimer: **Warner Brothers and Homer (who is undoubtedly turning in his grave). The quote is by Jim Rohn.

**Reviews REVIEW: **W0W!!! I'm surprised by the number of reviews, and the opinions on the sequels (I see that b and c are getting lots of attention). Keep on reviewin'!!! And special thanks to new reviewers!!!

**Chapter Subjects: **Achilles and Briseis.

**Language Note/Summary:** This story starts out with Achilles hearing Briseis' cries, the rescue, etc. Briseis, meanwhile, is wondering whether or not Achilles can really be a good person, and also the conversations between them that is featured in the movie. I use a whole lot of lines from the movie in this story, and I have also taken the liberty of moving lines from earlier and later in the movie. I'm trying to balance out the opinions, I hope its good, and also I'm including more of their thoughts. I think you guys will like this chapter!

**Announcements: **Please, REVIEW, notify me if you have a copy of the SCRIPT, and read the NOTE at the end of the story. Again, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!

----

Taming a Wildflower

----

"One person caring about another represents life's greatest value."-Jim Rohn

----

I hear her screams. They were high-pitched and seemed to rip the very breath out of my lungs, as if _I _were the one screaming. Briseis.

_Agamemnon. How dare he?_

My actions have many times been called rash. My actions have often resulted in bloodshed; many say that Agamemnon's death will be on the tip of a Myrmidon sword. Menelaus is now in Hades, killed by Hector.

My sword I have not picked up in many days, but now I do not hesitate to slide it from its sheath. It feels hot in my hands. It is familiar in my grasp. Slowly, I remember of all the places I have gone with this sword, of the men who have met their end on it, of the man who carried it before me; Peleus, my father. I do not hesitate to step out of my tent and toward the side of camp from where the screams are coming from. I will not hesitate to kill them, if they have harmed her.

"Bitch!" They taunt her. She reaches across and slaps on of them, hard. I smile. A wild one, now, is she? I do not smile when I see the brand which one of the men are holding. He brings it close to her arm, and she flinches and struggles, but her struggles are fruitless. She won't escape, this I know. The soldier grins.

He is not grinning when I thrust the brand to his neck. No, he is choking, gurgling, trying to get air through his roasting windpipe and I slit his throat. The other two fall away quickly. _Aye, it is best if you leave, men of Agamemnon._

I sweep her up in my arms. She wriggles a little. The fabric of her dress is torn and dirty and I can spot bits of dried blood. And on her rich, full lips, a cut is bleeding sluggishly, but is stopping. Her hair matted, and I wonder if it would be possible for a comb to be run through her dark brown tresses.

When I lay her down on the floor of my tent, she immediately shrinks away from me. _Why wouldn't she? _

I bring a basin of water, and dip a rag in and wring it, before bringing it to her cut lip. She shies away, and swats at my hand. Again, I try to clean her cut, but she swats at me harder. _Fine._ I toss the rag at her face and she ducks.

"Don't worry. You're safe now." She does not speak, and does not look up.

"You needn't be frightened of me. I won't hurt you. And you're the only Trojan I can say that to." She does not speak. _An awkward silence._

"You were brave, to fight them." _Why do I feel so nervous?_

She snorts. "Courage? Please, a dog has that kind of courage to defend itself when it is attacked."

_She speaks. _I find truth in her words. The soft moonlight lands on a platter of fruit, fresh and taken from a farm a few days ago, on one of the little islands where we stopped to "rest" on our journey to Troy.

"Eat." I offer the platter, but she only looks at me as if I am mad.

"You will be punished." _So, she speaks again._

"Punished? For what?" _Does she think that Agamemnon will punish me?_

"You know what. For desecrating Apollo's temple." Now, it is my turn to snort.

Her voice rises a little. "Do you think that the Gods will let that go un-punished?" P_riests know nothing of Gods. Gods are men with spears. Gods are men who can kill._

"Then what is he waiting for?" I say it mockingly. She fumes at my words.

"The right time to strike."

She _is_ furious, for I, Achiles, son of Peleus, insulted the almighty Gods. _Like a wildflower; a flower, certainly, very beautiful; but wild also, and one who needs to be tamed. A little like Patroclus._

_----_

" Let me tell you a secret, something they don't teach you in your temple," he said, voice low, sending shivers down by back. "The Gods _envy us_. They envy us because we are mortal, because any moment could be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. We might never be in the same place again, we may never experience the same thing again. You will never be more lovely than you are know." _He thinks that I am lovely? _"Knowing that every moment could be our last makes it so much more intense. Our curse- our mortality- is in fact our greatest blessing."

I daubed at my cut, careful not to push the sand crystals into it. I thought about his words. They made sense in a way. But they were idiotic. _To mock the Gods!_

"I thought that you were just a dumb brute. I could have forgiven a dumb brute."

_Am I provoking him? _I roll a grape back and forth in my fingers before popping it into my mouth.

He doesn't snore, apparently. They seem to rumble the very earth upon which I lie. Of course, he has not taken me to his bed. Yet. I cannot imagine…

A small flash catches my eye. _His dagger!_ I look back towards his sleeping form, and scuttle quietly towards the weapon. I pick it up. _It's heavy._ I can't believe that in a time like this I can still think about how heavy his dagger is.

Legend says that it takes ten men to lift his ash spear. His sword he allows no one to touch sword, other than Patroclus and probably his father. His dagger is heavy enough. The sand leaks between my toes as I walk towards his bed. As I position myself above him, in the perfect decision to strike, I think about if this is the right thing to do.

_He saved your _life_. He is a killer of your brothers. He has not harmed you. He is a monster. _I think back to the day when I was taken at the Temple of Apollo. _Into the mist went my life._ I think of the kind priests who were killed.

Slowly, I lower the blade. It is almost touching his neck when his eyes open. Just in time I stop myself from screaming.

_Was he awake the entire time? _They are intense, a blue of like the wild sky above. They are deep. I know that they have seen men die. I find myself admiring them. I find myself drowning in them.

"Do it." _Hesitation? No, I sense none. _

"Aren't you afraid?" I ask. _How can he not be afraid, even if he be the greatest warrior the world will ever know?_

"Every man dies." There is nothing but calmness in his voice.

"If… if I don't kill you, many more will die." _It seems reasonable, does it not?_

"Many." He speaks as if he were thinking about the meaning of the word. _He has already killed many._

"Go on, then, do it."

Before I can react or reply, he is on top of me. And all I have ever known comes crashing down and flies away from me.

**----**

NOTE:Here is how I am going to handle the sequels:

Sequel A: (the original ending), is going to be the ending included in A Ripple on the Surface.

Sequel B: (the one where Achilles doesn't die), will be in a separate fic, as will Sequel C (where Hector lives) and D (where Paris dies). They will not be one chapter fics, unless I don't have get any reviews or whatever. I will also notify you in the chapter where Hector is supposed to die, of

Sequel C: Here are the titles which I am considering. If you have any title ideas, please post them in your review.

Sequel A: **The Silence After**

Sequel B: **All in Good Time**

Sequel C: **At the Edge of an Ocean**

Suggestions! Comments! Reviews!… So, go ahead and push that review button. (Yes, that one right there)


	9. Whispered Promises

**Disclaimer: **You know the drill.

**Reviews REVIEW: **Wow! Thanks for all of the great comments about the sequel stuff and support on my last chapter being sucky. :-)

**Chapter Subjects: **Hector and Andromache

**Language Note/Summary: **This is when Hector goes in the morning and launches a surprise attack on the Greek camp. More importantly, Patroclus dies, thus sealing Hector and Achilles' fate. Meanwhile, Andromache is worrying… again. This goes on to Achilles finding out, his tantrum, and Briseis' opinion and thoughts on all of this. The quote is from 3 Doors Down (whom I love), and I can hear Hector saying it. The quote is said by Andromache to Hector, though with some different language. First up is Andromache, then Hector, then Briseis. Yes, you hear me correctly, there is no Achilles. The poem could be said by either Andromache or Briseis. This story is pretty short…

**Announcements: REVIEW**, read the **NOTE**, and if you have any help that you can give me with the **SCRIPT**, it will be much appreciated.

----

Wind blows over

the abandoned plain.

The hard, brown dirt

is dusted with blood.

A lone bird flies,

backed by the flaming sunset.

The rain comes down

in thundering torrents.

A drop falls into a puddle.

Ripples form on the surface.

I turn around and walk

towards a bright light.

The plain is now mud.

The lone bird has flown away.

----

A Forgotten Promise

----

"This could be the last time, you will

stand by my side.

I can feel my soul it's bleeding."

- By My Side by 3 Doors Down

----

I didn't want him to leave.

"They need me," he had said.

"_I need you._ Astyanax needs you." But he left anyway. He had put his arms around me, and whispered;

"This could be the last time I hold you. I can feel my soul, it's bleeding."

I knew that he would not stay. He was too noble to stay behind and watch others fight his battle… or, rather, Paris' battle.

They were to catch the Greeks by surprise, and rouse them and fight, and hopefully force them to retreat. That was what the elders thought. Apollo would punish the Greeks for desecrating his tempt, slaughtering his priests and--.

But I was among those who did not believe that Briseis was dead. She couldn't be. _But if she isn't what is she doing? _I was not sure if I wanted to know.

Hector told me of his fustration towards the elders, whom he did not agree with. He knew that Achilles had not been fighting earlier that day because of a dispute of some sort. If they attacked the Greek camp, he might rejoin the war if threatened. And that would be disastrous.

But he left anyway. And when he left, I had a sinking feeling deep down in my stomach. It was not a good feeling. _Be safe, husband._

----

We did catch them by surprise. The balls of hay and dried grass which we had tied together caught fire and rolled into the Greek camp quickly. Pillars of smoke rose into the early morning sky, the cackling and crackling of flames singing a low, uneven song. Some of their tents burned to nothing.

_Good. We have achieved surprise._

From the camp men streamed like water, some still attaching their armour, spear and shields ready. But they were struck with fear as they saw us, us Trojans. We were like the swarm that they had been yesterday. We had surrounded them. And they would have to kill many, or lose many, in order for us to retreat.

I smashed my spear against my shield. It made them fear more, I knew. My men did also, and it was a horrible sound. We were acting as Hades' trumpets, sounding his arrival.

_Pray for me, Andromache. Pray, Trojans._

It was going well at first. Until I saw a brilliant flash of light. A great cheer rose among the Greek ranks. What I had feared was now happening. Achilles.

He cut down a good many men, but I would not let him drive us back. We had come so far; we could not retreat now. So I went forward to meet him.

When my spear met his shield, he fell back a little. _He is weak from disease?_ I thrusted at him again and again and again. He blocked, but his movements were clumsy, nothing like the flowing, smooth strokes I had witnessed a few days ago. And then, my spear tip found his throat. Blood gurgled out of his mouth. _Dead!_

There was a haunting silence around me. All soldiers, Greek and Trojan, did not breathe nor move at all. They all thought one thing; _the legendary son of Peleus… is dead? The man whom they all worshiped, the supposed son of a goddess, the warrior who was invincible… dead? His life ended so quickly?_

But here was something strange about him… something strange about the way he breathed, about the way he had fought… and then all of a sudden, I knew. Reaching down, I tore away his helmet. I would later wish that I never had.

It was not Achilles. It was someone else, a boy to young to have fought in this battle. He looked a little like him; same blonde hair, blue eyes.

"Patroclus," whispered someone at my elbow. I turned to see Odysseus. "Achilles' cousin."

I could not bear to see him in pain like that. So, I unsheathed my sword and plunged it into his chest with a cry of anguish. Then, I turned to look at Odysseus. There was worry and fear in his eyes. but not fear of me. fear of the son of Peleus.

"A truce. There's been enough bloodshed for today."

He nodded his agreement, and the Greeks turned back to their damaged camp.

_Achilles' cousin? By the will of the Gods…_

----

I was so frightened, when I hear the commotion outside.

"Achilles, no!"

His grip was iron. hard. His fingers, cold, no longer warm as they had been the nights before. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. All I could feel was his anger, his hatred. It burned inside of him, a raging forest fire, unstop-able. Now, I saw the son of a goddess, the greatest of all the Greeks. Now, I saw the man with the most famous temper in the world. I feared his wrath. Everyone did.

_Don't you see me, Achilles? Don't you see who I am? Have you forgotten me?_

It seemed as if he heard me, for he released me quickly, and I barely was able to break my fall. But the expression on his face did not change.

_Not only has he forgotten me, he has forgotten himself. He has forgotten those words he spoke to me. He has forgotten his promise. Don't forget me, Achilles. Please, don't forget me…_

----

**NOTE: **My sequel **At the Edge of an Ocean**, will have it's first chapter posted right after I post this. So go ahead and review this, and then R&R that fic!!! And thanks to you guys for your continued support through the creation of this fic. Chapter 11 will be up soon, I promise!!! :-)


	10. A Forgotten Promise

**Disclaimer: **You know the drill.

**Reviews REVIEW: **Wow! Thanks for all of the great comments about the sequel stuff, and thanks for all of your kind comments on my last chapter being sucky.

**Chapter Subjects: **You guys were waitin' for a loooong time for 'em: Hector and Andromache!!! Also, I have some Briseis in order for the sequels thing to work out. This was a hard chapter for me to write; I hope it's good!!

**Language Note/Summary: **This is when Hector goes in the morning and launches a surprise attack on the Greek camp. More importantly, Patroclus dies, thus sealing Hector and Achilles' fate. Meanwhile, Andromache is worrying… again. This goes on to Achilles finding out, his tantrum, and Briseis' opinion and thoughts on all of this. The quote is from 3 Doors Down (whom I love), and I can hear Hector saying it. The quote is said by Andromache to Hector, though with some different language. First up is Andromache, then Hector, then Briseis. Yes, you hear me correctly, there is no Achilles. The poem could be said by either Andromache or Briseis. This story is pretty short…

**Announcements: REVIEW**, read the **NOTE**, and if you have any help that you can give me with the **SCRIPT**, it will be much appreciated.

----

Wind blows over

the abandoned plain.

The hard, brown dirt

is dusted with blood.

A lone bird flies,

backed by the flaming sunset.

The rain comes down

in thundering torrents.

A drop falls into a puddle.

Ripples form on the surface.

I turn around and walk

towards a bright light.

The plain is now mud.

The lone bird has flown away.

----

A Forgotten Promise

----

"This could be the last time, you will

stand by my side.

I can feel my soul it's bleeding."

- By My Side by 3 Doors Down

----

I didn't want him to leave.

"They need me," he had said.

"_I need you._ Astyanax needs you." But he left anyway. He had put his arms around me, and whispered;

"This could be the last time I hold you. I can feel my soul, it's bleeding."

I knew that he would not stay. He was too noble to stay behind and watch others fight his battle… or, rather, Paris' battle.

They were to catch the Greeks by surprise, and rouse them and fight, and hopefully force them to retreat. That was what the elders thought. Apollo would punish the Greeks for desecrating his tempt, slaughtering his priests and--. But I did not believe that Briseis was dead. She couldn't be. _But if she isn't what is she doing? _I was not sure if I wanted to know.

Hector did not agree with the elders. He knew that Achilles had not been fighting earlier that day because of a dispute of some sort. If they attacked the Greek camp, he would maybe rejoin the war. And that would be disastrous.

But he left anyway. And when he left, I had a sinking feeling deep down in my stomach. It was not a good feeling. _Be safe, husband._

----

We did catch them by surprise. The balls of hay and dried grass which we had tied together caught fire and rolled into the Greek camp quickly. Some of their tents burned to nothing. _Good. We have achieved surprise._

From the camp streamed men like water, some still attaching their armour, spear and shields ready. But they were struck with fear as they saw us, us Trojans. We were a swarm like they had been yesterday. We had surrounded them. And they would have to kill many, or lose many, in order for us to retreat.

I smashed my spear against my shield. It made them fear more, I knew. My men did also, and it was a horrible sound. We were acting as Hades' trumpets, sounding his arrival. _Pray for me, Andromache. Pray, Trojans._

It was going well at first. Until I saw a brilliant flash of light. A great cheer rose among the Greek ranks. What I had feared was now happening. Achilles.

He cut down a good many men, but I would not let him drive us back. So I went forward to meet him. When my spear met his shield, he fell back a little. _He is weak from disease?_ I thrusted at him again and again and again. And then, my spear tip found his throat. Blood gurgled out of his mouth.

There was a haunting silence around me. All soldiers, Greek and Trojan, did not breathe nor move at all. They all thought one thing; _the legendary son of Peleus… is dead? _

But here was something strange about him… something strange about the way he breathed, about the way he had fought… And then I knew. Reaching down, I tore away his helmet. I would later wish that I never had.

It was not Achilles. It was someone else, a boy to young to have fought in this battle.

"Patroclus," whispered someone at my elbow. I turned to see Odysseus. "Achilles' cousin."

I could not bear to see him in pain like that. So, I unsheathed my sword and plunged it into his chest. Then, I turned to look at Odysseus.

"There's been enough bloodshed for today."

----

I was so frightened, when I hear the commotion outside.

"Achilles, no!"

His grip was iron. It was no longer gentle like the night before. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. All I could feel was his anger, his hatred. I feared his wrath. I knew it would be terrible. _Don't you see me, Achilles? Don't you see who I am? Have you forgotten me?_

It seemed as if he heard me, for he released me quickly, and I barely was able to break my fall. _Not only has he forgotten me, he has forgotten himself. He has forgotten those words he spoke to me. Don't forget me, Achilles. Please, don't forget me…_

----

**NOTE: **My sequel At the Edge of an Ocean, will have it's first chapter posted right after I post this. So go ahead and review this, and then R&R that fic!!! And thanks to you guys for your continues support through the creation of this fic. Chapter 11 will be up soon, I promise!!!!!!!! :-)


	11. A Plea to Fallen Stars

**OMG!!! I am so sorry for taking so long to write this chapter. **Special thanks to **Another Me** for her suggestions on how to help me improve!

**Reviews REVIEW: **So many!!! I luv reading them. Keep 'em coming!!!

**Chapter Subjects: **Andromache, Hector, Helen, Paris and Briseis.

**Language Note/Summary: **This is probably the most complicated chapter yet, (why it's taken me so long). Hector's opinion is first (very short), then Andromache (short), then Paris, then Helen (very short), then Briseis (also very short), then Hector again (short). I have a couple of flashbacks with lines directly from the movie, and yes, I do realise I have Paris and Helen repeating a few things.

**Announcements: REVIEW**, and read the **NOTE!!!**

----

A Plea to Fallen Stars

----  
  
"The reputation of a thousand years may be determinded by the conduct of one hour." -Japanese Proverb

----

I feel it now. It is the end. My time is over. I know that I have taken Troy as far into victory as I can. I only hope that they will go farther.

_Andromache, I love you._

----

"Do you remember the way to get here?" he asked. The light from the torch cast all the room around us into shadow. His face was serious and grave.

"Yes. Why-why are you taking me here?" I answered worriedly. _Why is he taking me here? There must be something that I don't know…_

"I killed a boy today. He was young; too young."

Something dawned on me. _A young boy…_

"He was Achilles' cousin, Patroclus," spoke Hector hesitantly. Now, I understood. _No._

"No." It was the only thing that I could think of to say. _No!_

"Andromache, when the Greeks come, you follow this tunnel, see? When the Greeks come, you run, do you hear me? You _run_. You bring as many people as you can, but you get out of Troy with our son. Follow the tunnel until you come to a river, and then go to the mountain."

"NO!" It came out a sob.

His arms came around me and Astyanax. "Shhh," he murmured. He rocked back and forth. I felt like a baby again. "Shhh."

----

"The weather is good. Poseidon has blessed our voyage." A cool ocean breeze met us.

"Sometimes the Gods will bless you in the morning and curse you in the afternoon." _Does he know? No, he doesn't. Of course he doesn't. But I must tell him._

"Do you love me brother? Would you defend me against any enemy?"

His face changed immediately. _Concern._ "The last time you spoke to me like this, you were ten years old and had just stolen father's horse... what have you done now?"

_He knows me all to well. _I mustered up my courage. "I-I must show you something." _I must._

So I led him to the other end of the ship, and opened up the hatch, and led him under-deck.

Now, sitting on my bed safe inside these thick walls of Troy, I remember every expression, ever word, everything. _Has all of this happened because of me? Is this all my fault? _

"Do you know what you have done? Do you now how many years our father has worked for peace?" he had asked me furiously. His entire body shook with anger. _He's never spoken like this to me before. Not even when I stole father's horse._

"I love her." _I do._

"Ugh." He had scoffed at me. "It's all a game to you isn't it? You roam from town to town, bedding merchants' wives and temple maids and you think you know something about love? What about your _father's_ love? You _spat_ on him when you brought her onto this ship! What about the love for your country? You'd let Troy burn for this woman? I won't let you start a war for her."

I found truth in his words. But I couldn't let Helen go. "May I speak? If what you say is true. I've ruined you. I've ruined our father. If you want to take Helen back to Sparta, so be it! But I go with her."

"To Sparta? They'll kill you." _He doesn't believe me._

"Then I'll die fighting."

"Well, that's sounds heroic to you, doesn't it? To die fighting. Tell me, little brother, have you ever killed a man?" _I can't win a contest of words with Hector._

"No."

"Ever seen a man die in combat?"

"No."

"Well, I've killed men and I've heard them dying and I've watched them dying and there's nothing glorious about it, nothing _poetic_! You say you're willing to die for love, but you know nothing about dying and you know nothing about love!" He sounded furious. _Why shouldn't he be?_

"All the same, I go with her. I won't ask you to fight my war."

He looked away and stared at the water. "You already have."

----

Hector came back, fear written over his face. _Hector, afraid? _One of the servant women told me why.

"He killed Patroclus." _What have I done? Has all of this happened because of me? Is this all my fault?_

----

He hasn't spoken to me. He hasn't looked at me. He hasn't touched me. But I don't know who "he" is. I do not know this blood-thirsty warrior. I knew Achilles. I do not know this monster. And I don't think that he knows me anymore. All he knows is Hector. He is not my lover anymore.

----

"You come here un-invited. Go back to your ships and go home." _This is the beginning of a war._

"Look around you, Hector. I have brought all the warriors of Greece to your shores." I wanted to cut him down, right there, the gloating pig.

Nestor spoke. "You can still save Troy, young prince."

"I have two wishes. If you grant them, no more of your people need die. First, you must give Helen back to my brother. Second, Troy must submit to my command and fight for me whenever I call." _I will never fight for you. I will never submit._

"You want me to look on your army and tremble. Well, I see them. I see fifty thousand men brought here to fight for one man's greed."

"Careful, boy, my mercy has limits." _Mercy?_

"I've seen the limits of your mercy, and I tell you now, no son of Troy will _ever_ bow down to a foreign ruler!" _I will never submit._

"Then every son of Troy shall _die._"

No. Astyanax will live. Andromache will escape with others. Troy will live on. No Greek, no son of a goddess, will ever destroy Troy. They may burn it, but they will never destroy Troy's spirit.

----

**NOTES**:

1) Read **At the Edge of an Ocean**!!! Third chapter is up!!!!!

2) The other two sequels will be up after this story ends.


	12. A Final Sonnet

**Disclaimer: **Blah blah blah. The quote is by Trisha Yearwood (I found it on some website) which seems like it's said from Andromaches' or Briseis' PoV.

**Ahhh! **Okay, I'm going to Hawaii after… a while (yeah, I haven't asked my parents when) and I'm going to try to finish this story before I leave. Sorry for taking so long for this chapter (I tried to make this work out smoothly and this is also the chapter where Hector dies, so I kept on crying). Please read the note at the end of this story. Thanks.

**Reviews REVIEW: **0-0 So many!!! Keep 'em comin!!!

**Chapter Subjects: **Briseis, Achilles, Paris, Helen, Andromache and Hector.

**Language Note: **This starts off with Briseis' opinion where Achilles gets ready for his duel thingy w/Hector. (WAHHHH!!!!!) Then it's Paris', Helen's and Andromache's thoughts. And a little bit of Hector. (NOOO!!!!!)

**Announcements: **Please REVIEW and read the NOTE at the end of this chapter.

----

A Final Sonnet

----

"If I had known the way that this would end,

if I'd have read the last page first;

if I'd have had the strength to walk away,

if I had known how this would hurt,

I would have loved you anyway.

I'd do it all the same;

not a second I would change,

not a touch that I would trade,

had I known my heart would break,

I'd have loved you anyway."

"I'd Have Loved You Anyway"-Trisha Yearwood

----

He got up before the sun woke. Before the gulls woke. Before any Achaean woke, I am sure. But I was awake. I hadn't been able to get any sleep. And I don't think that he got any sleep, either.

_No! _I wanted to scream. _Don't go, Achilles! Please, don't go… _But what could I do? I was his slave.

I had never thought of it that way, before now. After all, he'd never treated me like slave. Now, he just… ignored me. Or perhaps he wasn't ignoring me. Maybe he just didn't see me. That's what it felt like. It was almost as if he was in his own little world, and the only other person who existed was Hector. I wanted to shake him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to _notice me._ To realise that I was there and to tell him of that promise he had given me.

I had never met Patroclus. But from what I heard, he was a great man. Or a boy, in most warrior's opinions. _He was too young to die._

Achilles had told him not to fight. But he hadn't listened. And so he died. It was said that Achilles loved Patroclus more than anything, more than his mother, Thetis and his father Peleus, whom he honoured and respected above all others. Achilles had trained Patroclus himself. He had kept him from joining in on the battle on the shore.

As I looked over, I saw him dressing in that holy armour of his. A heavy, thick breastplate of beautiful bronze and bronze greaves with silver ankle-clasps. Sword of bronze, slung over one shoulder. Shield of bronze, slung over the other. His helmet, bronze also, went on last. The dark plumed crest and nose-piece frightened me. I could already see blood streaked across his fair face.

He picked up his spear of Pelian ash. He left the tent, that golden son of Peleus, the man spoken of by Nestor as; "One who was born to take lives." He didn't look at me.

So he strode forth to smite the Trojans. It was then that I came to my senses. My limbs moved and I pulled on a tunic and rushed out after him.

I saw Eurydonus move forward to take the reins, for it was his duty as Achilles' charioteer. He stepped down when he was met by a glare and a slight shake of the head.

I ran to my lover, grasping one mighty forearm, shouting, "No! Achilles, Hector is a good man, he-"

I stopped when he shook me off. He wasn't going to listen to anyone. I watched his chariot run over the sand, that horsehair crest bobbing up and down. I kept myself composed on the outside. Inside, I was screaming. Weeping. Fearing. _NO!_

----

My brother. A husband. Father. Leader. He was the hope for Troy. And he was going to die. _Because of me._ He had warned me, he had tried to send Helen back. _Is this the price for love?_

Troy was doomed. _Because of me. _Andromache would become some concubine to a sweaty, Greek commander. _Because of me. _I would die and Helen… probably given to Achilles. Or Agamemnon. _Because of me. _I didn't know which one was worse. And Astyanax, that innocent little child, with so much ahead of him, who should have so many more winters, would die also. _Because of me._

Everything, because of me. Because I stole Helen away from the halls of Sparta. For love, a nation would burn to the ground. For love, thousands of innocents would die. _All because of me._

----

He had never scorned me. Shunned me. Never blamed me for anything.

_Noble brother, why do the Gods curse us so?_ I do not know. I don't think that I ever will.

----

His voice echoed along the walls. I could feel everyone in Troy flinch each time he cried out Hector's name. That man-killer.

"HECTOR!" His voice rang out along the walls. Punched at the walls. Cut at them. Tore me apart. I could see Troy burning. Flames, rising. Darkness, descending.

All of a sudden, when Hector's warm arms came around me, I felt numb. _This cannot be happening. _

"I love you, Andromache," he whispered, kissing me. I wanted that kiss to last forever.

He turned around and stepped out of the gates. I rushed up the tower to the walls to watch. _I don't want to watch. But I must. I must be brave. Be brave, daughter of Eetion._

"I thought that it was you I was fighting yesterday." _Hector! _His voice was confident, regretful. "I wish it _had _been you."

"You won't have eyes tonight, you won't have ears or a tongue." His voice was hard, grating. Full of hatred. _Hector! _"You will wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb. And all the dead will know, 'This is Hector, the fool who thought he killed Achilles.'"

_The man has no shame!_

"I will make you a deal. The man who loses will be given back to his people for a proper burial-" Hector was cut off short by Achilles' angry reply.

"There are no pacts between men and lions," he snarled.

And so it began. They lunged. They danced a dance of death. I lost track of their movements. They seemed like the Furies. Achilles seemed like a Fury. Hector… desperately trying to hold on.

He staggered a little, inches away from death. Achilles only seemed to grow more powerful with every thrust and block and fient. He took off his helmet and threw it to the side.

"Now you know who you are fighting!"

My beloved husband's luck was spent. He tripped over a rock and fell, gashing his foot. I cried out in fear. I could hear him groan.

"Get up, prince of Troy! I won't let a stone rob me of my glory!"

_Is that what you kill for? _

Hector stumbled again, weak from pain and loss of blood. Achilles' spear went through his shoulder. I couldn't watch anymore. I hid and cried, burying my face in my arms. I shut down all of my notice of what was happening around me. I sank into my own world.

One of the servant women told me what happened later. Hector had been panting, and looked up to Achilles, who had drawn his sword. He ran Hector through.

For all of my efforts to cut off contact with the world around me, I still heard him fall. I cried out.

Behind me,

the women started

keening.

A final

sonnet. Then,

nothing. Just silence.

----

Even as I fought, there was a wrenching pain in my heart. _Andromache… I love you. I love you. And Astyanax. And Troy. I love you all. Don't forget me._

A tearing pain. A blinding, flashing light, the sun streaming off of a breastplate worthy of the gods, made by the gods. Then…

----

So, what do you think??? REVIEW!!!

**NOTE:** I think that there is going to be only two more chapters. And there's not really going to be a sequel, I'm probably just going to have a one-chapter fic that kinda has their thoughts. It's gonna be called **The Silence After**.


	13. A Tale of Two Brothers: The Changing of ...

**OMG!!!! It's been sooooo long since I've written. I AM TRULY SORRY!!! **But, hey, I've got a life to live, okay??? Okay. So, back to business. :-)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Troy (man, I wish I did). The quote is from The Matrix (awesome movie).

**Reviews REVIEW: **I luv those reviews!! And if I do not receive enough, I will stop writing!!! Hehe. (Firien laughs evily. I want to feel evil for once).

**Language Note: **Okay, this is where Briseis leaves (Achilles' POV). Then, it's Andromache. And then Paris. No Helen. THIS IS NOT THE END YET, FOLKS. There we go. Firien has spoken. Hear my roar. Hehe. But the next chapter will be, inevitably, the end. And I know that the title is kinda long (truthfully, I could not decide which, so I decided to put both).

**Announcements: REVIEW **and **READ THE NOTE THE END!!!** Thankyees.

---

A Story of Two Brothers: The Changing of the Guard

---

"It is remarkable how similar the pattern of love is to the pattern of insanity"-Merovingian, The Matrix Revolutions

---

They say that with darkness comes peace. I say that with darkness comes horrors. Waiting… when he returned (and you know of whom I speak), he was no longer a man, but the monster that Trojan mothers tell to their children.

            "'-And if you misbehave, I'll send Achilles after you!'"

            I have related to you earlier of how he didn't recongnize me when he looked at me. I will say it again. Warriors are passionate men, in everything that they do.

            I reflect on this war, how it began. Is not the pattern of love similar to the pattern of insanity? Will not men, and women, kill for love? Will it not drive them insane? And I am not just speaking of my cousin Paris and the beautiful Helen. I speak of the love Achilles has for Patroclus. And I will not say "had", for that it untrue. It is "has", for he still loves his cousin.

            I pity him. I pity both of them. I pity everyone in this god-dammed war. I hate them all, love them all, and perhaps I will one day forgive them all, even Agamemnon and Menelaus.

            One day, all of us will have crossed the river, in the ferryman's boat. And then, we will all forgive both ourselves, and each other.

---

            We all tried to persuade him not to, but Priam wouldn't listen. He's gone mad. And I think that I will soon follow. Astyanax stopped crying a little while ago, so I have some peace and quiet. There is no peace, though. And there is no quiet. All I hear is the roar of war in my ears. I feel myself standing at the edge of an ocean, the poundng of the surf unending, in thick turrents.

            Usually, I don't drink any wine, but tonight is different. I pour out the last of a bottle into a cup. Slowly, I watch the last drop fall. It sends little ripples across the surface. The red wine, so like blood. And so this war will go on, until the last drop falls, into the pools of blood and sends little ripples across the surface.

            When the king returned he was not alone. _Briseis! _She had returned to us! That horrible man-killer had let her go. And I felt gratitude.

            My eyes left her face and turned to the window. The stars sparkled, gazing down on all from the high heavens above. _Hector, my love, where are you? When will we meet again? _I miss him.

---

            This is a story of two brothers. This is a story of how one looked after the other. This is the story of how one died for the other. He should be the one alive tonight. I should have died long ago.

            This is the changing of the guard. Hector is dead. Now, I will become the protector, a role I never was able to pick up. I could pretend at first, but eventually I would give up. Now, there is just me. Alone.

            This shouldn't be the end of the story. And now I realize; it isn't. It won't. Not if I can help it.

---

**NOTE: **Sorry, I guess that was kinda short. But ya know, this is winding down to the end. So, everybody, check out my other fanfic, **At the Edge of an Ocean**, which I will update soon (right after I write this). And be on the lookout for my new fanfic which I will posting soon, **The Silence After**.

And I don't know if you picked it up, but this chapter I kinda wrote while having Iraq in the back of my mind. And I don't care if you're like me and against the war, or for it, and I don't know if you're Christian or not, but when you go to sleep, please pray for everyone over there. In the end, we will all realize our mistakes, and will regret our wrong actions. And perhaps someday, we will all forgive be forgiven.

-Firien


End file.
